Bent to the Season

There are more blankets on my bed now. The thermostat is turned on, the smell of first-season heat, like mittens warming on a radiator, reminds me that this is the beginning. I wait less patiently for the coffee to perk, wanting to warm my hands on the hot porcelain. The rain is pounding down this morning, and after a dark and damp walk with Lux at 6:30, I am back in my nest listening to the sounds of Autumn rain.

There is no turning back now. There never is, really, only a soft forward tilt into the darker end of the year. I bow my head to the new season, and respectfully admire the goodness it offers, fires, stews, mittens and hats, heavy blankets and warm smiles.